Double
by catiechu
Summary: I do know one thing. There is so such thing as timelessness. Time is the only sure victor in any match. We will all be defeated by its hand. Even you.


Oh, his mother with her face like a Noh mask, clipping stray roses and silently observing her lecherous husband through the window as he kissed the cheek of her best friend.

Oh, his mother with her fur-lined jackets and satin slippers, forlornly smoking Italian cigarettes under the eaves and watching the sun rise on that snowy morning.

Would that they could see their sons now, neglecting sterile cups of fragrant tea at the inn with its stunning view of Mount Fuji from the window.

Surely she would admire the ironic beauty of his false eye, framed by wreckage and scarred tissue, concealed by a veil of silver hair that was like her own had once been.

Surely she would appreciate the dignified backward sweep of his chestnut hair from a cool forehead, and the pains he took in keeping his shoulders erect even after they had been weighed down by heartbreak.

Tatsumi received Muraki's gaze without flinching, and Muraki accurately felt that he was seeing the same face presented to all who knew him. Intriguing, this beautiful man with the wooden expression, and the curt practicality of his gestures. And yet there was still a coarseness to him, a resentment that tinged his eyes. Muraki wondered how many sacrifices the other had made before he had finally broken and all the effusiveness of youth had drained away. His complexion was still fairly young. He could not have been above thirty when he passed, and yet he had the look of someone older. But how many of those years were accumulated after death?

In Muraki Tatsumi read only the arrogance of one who truly believed he would never die. Clearly this man thought himself above death, impervious to it. From head to toe, he was white, blindingly so, a shade so pure that it recalled to memory the snow that blanketed the ground the day that Tatsumi lost his life. A knowing smile bent his lips at the corner of his mouth. No, death visits us all, one day, and the doctor would be in for a grave surprise the hour that he finally met it face-to-face. This much brought Tatsumi satisfaction, at least, but it was a small consolation in light of the doctor's crimes.

Between them sat an old shogi board weathered by time, each tile bearing tiny, almost imperceptible chips and flaws at the corners, left unreplaced to charm and impart quaintness upon guests. To Muraki, the deliberateness of it edged on tackiness. Tatsumi however paid it no mind. The board was, at the very most, a diversion, but everything about the setting was just the same, beauty without compare to distract from the unpleasant pleasantries, the uncivil civilties that were passed within the walls of the establishment.

Beyond the window, Sakura branches undulated in the soft spring breeze. A young sparrow lighted momentarily on a firm pink bud before darting up and out of sight.

"Sensei...."

Muraki smiled. His artificial eye caught a few dismembered slivers of the window as it was reflected in Tatsumi's glasses.

"I appreciate all the trouble you must've taken on my behalf, to secure a reservation here. As a secretary, I know what a hassle it is to maintain order while, at the same time, getting things done, and seeing that they are done properly."

"Indeed."

"But I'm afraid you'll find, in the end, that it was not worth the time you invested. For I already know I will only disappoint you by refusing to reveal any information you might find useful. Perhaps when you die, you, too, will become privy to all the secrets of death. The best advice I can impart is to stop chasing them and just enjoy what's left of your life. You will find it passes quickly."

"Don't pretend at being an old man. Sentimentality doesn't suit you, and it bears no effect on me."

Muraki paused at the arrival of his turn. A slender hand sailed out, pressed two manicured fingers to the rook before drawing them back, favoring instead the gold general.

"Besides, your statements are presumptuous. You believe to know more of me than I of you."

The sky was so vividly blue that it seemed unreal. The fierce unpolluted glow of daylight penetrated the surrounding air, casting long, detailed shadows across the aged tatami.

Tatsumi's shoulders were painfully rigid even as his arm slid out to capture Muraki's gold general with his own knight.

"I do know one thing. There is so such thing as timelessness. Time is the only sure victor in any match. We will all be defeated by its hand. Even you."

Despite the averse sentiments the secretary stirred within him, Muraki found himself admiring his conviction, if nothing else. It really was tragic, so resolved to failure was he that his mind had been reformed to expect nothing more. It was a stark contrast to his own spirit, which had survived so much already at thirty-four years. How unfortunate he found it that such a strikingly beautiful man would be so bland in his predictability, this tiredness that seemed too pronounced.

"That may be the case." He said insincerely. "But I haven't invited you here to speculate. It happens that I had a specific purpose in mind. A particularly handsome and... truly unique purpose."

A careless move. Tatsumi reluctantly relinquished his fallen rook.

"I gather your meaning." He warned. "But shinigami are not to be bought or sold."

"Whoever said -that- was my meaning?"

"You insinuated it."

A gentle crack sounded in the adjacent room. It was enough to beckon Tatsumi's eyes to look askance, and Muraki seized the moment of distaction to lunge forward. Within the passing of a second he had Tatsumi pinned to the board. Pieces scattered freely, some falling to the tatami, bouncing once or twice before coming to rest.

"But whoever suggested the option of payment?"

Muraki's voice was hoarse from exertion. Tatsumi writhed only once beneath him before going still. His glasses hung precariously near the tip of his nose.

"Tatsumi-san, you've been mistaken all along. I am a man accustomed to getting what he wants. And when things don't go so smoothly, well. I have been known to take things..."

Tatsumi cried out as Muraki bent his arm beneath his weight.

"...without ever giving back."

With the last shudder Tatsumi's glasses fell and clattered over the floor, filling the stale air with the hollow sound of glass and metal ringing against an absorbent surface.

"I could kill you now." Tatsumi's voice was low and venomous and full of everything it had lacked before. Muraki smiled and, in one fluid motion, swept the still-full teacups away to the floor, where they left a dirty spill that crept gradually into the sunlight.

"Do you know that I held Tsuzuki-san in this same position once? It couldn't have been long ago, though it feels it's been years since that night."

"That night?" Tatsumi asked, tone pregnant with innumerable layers of feeling.

"The night we spent together at the Kokakurou."

For the first time since the two men entered the room, it was still, if only for a fleeting moment.

Would that his mother could see him following her advice now.

"Kazutaka," she smiled bitterly. Her arms were full with the stillborn blossoms she had cut away, "always go after what you want without any hesitation at all."

Would that for his last minutes on Earth, he could be with the one closest to his heart.

A white plume of smoke rose from sensually full, moist lips, and disappeared into the snow-covered landscape. As she shivered, she drew her jacket more firmly about her.

"Seiichirou, I'm cold." 


End file.
